Melancholia
by True China Sorrows
Summary: Loneliness was a poison. Some were more adverse to change than others.
1. Chapter 1

Melancholia

Tifa watched him, unamused. He felt her disapproval searing into his back. He had done wrong and he knew it. He simply hadn't expected an unending stream of wrath to be poured upon him day and night. He was sure that it should have subsided. That left him one last explanation, _she isn't angry with me_. He felt the dread build within him.

It wasn't him whom she was intending the glares or low mutterings for. That meant that it would continue until its true target arrived. He had little doubt as to who the Intended One was. He also had little doubt that the Intended One had no intention of arriving soon. Therefore, he settled into despondency.

She saw his expression turn to discontent. A momentary feeling of guilt rose within her, but it was easily quelled. She returned to her glaring and the expenditure sheets with ease.

* * *

When the doors finally opened he was greeted with a view of darkness. The shadows were snug where they were. They clung to everything. It was utter stillness that his mind automatically likened to death. He closed it behind him carefully.

He treaded deliberately. It would be a grave error to disturb the sleeping residents. It would be a grave error to awaken Tifa. She had been avoiding his few calls for the last month or two; he didn't particularly remember how long a period. It had been weighing on his mind. That had been why he returned so soon. He had thought it unwise to leave her to her irrational nightmares.

The steps creaked beneath his heavy boots, but he was wise. He knew the building too well. It was he who had helped to make the floorboards so weak in the first place. The weary exercise of lowering one centimetre of himself at a time made his mind wander.

However, he made it to the first floor without a sound. How he had stood the careful tip-toeing had surprised even him. He took a moment to revel in his abilities. Then, he began again. The slow footfalls played at his mind. He was bored. He wanted speed. He wanted his motorcycle and the wind whipping through his hair with nothing but the vast, deserted land before him, behind him and all around him.

"Welcome,"

The curt, stressed word shattered the silence. He froze, cursing himself silently and regretting his awful care on the staircase. The word seemed to echo. It filled his racing mind and he knew it was too late to make excuses but he was determined to have one regardless.

He turned and saw her silhouette against the shadows. The deep scowl was not simply confined to her lips. It creased her forehead firmly. She looked far older than she really was. She also seemed strict, unforgiving, and he supposed it was true. He had no escape.

"Your room is ready for you," she said and slipped past him. "Use it if you want. If you're not staying the fridge is stocked. Take what you need."

Her matter-of-fact tone fooled no one. She had been worried sick. She wouldn't have waited for the sound of his arrival otherwise. She was simply too proud to admit it. The haughtiness that had developed in the last few years was all too evident.

Denzel spoke, just as callously distant. "Don't you have your own to take care of?"

She paused. The hand that held the doorframe shook it. Her lips were pursed tightly. She was almost as still as the bar had been. It was unearthly. She was less real than even ghosts in that one moment.

A hand appeared at her waist. "Denzel, it's good to see you,"

She glowered at Cloud. The deeply set curve of her lips had intensified. Her brow was knitted together. She almost slapped his hand away. She wanted to. He knew she did.

A low, supercilious snort was made. "Wish I could say the same,"

Cloud looked at him for a long moment. It took a mere second for a conclusion to be reached. His lips moved slowly at Tifa's ear. She listened, and then obeyed. There was no glance back as she slipped under his arm. There was only the slamming of the door once Cloud had left their bedroom.

"Denzel," he called. "Don't do this."

He was on the edge of the stairs; so close to escape, so close to freedom. "Don't do what? You've seen her. She doesn't want me here. Why should I stay?"

Cloud leant against the door. "I think we both know that she's lying. She's angry, but she does love you,"

He didn't miss the flicker of Denzel's eyes to the third door. It had once been a storeroom. Now it was a child's bedroom.

Denzel was hushed. "She has someone else to love now,"

Cloud shook his head, resisting a yawn. "She can love you all. She hasn't stopped caring about you just because…"

He stared. Moments later a drained smile took to his features. He had underestimated the boy. _When,_ he wondered, _had the boy become so silent_. A rush of paternal pride filled him. Denzel was just like he used to be, and he had every faith that the boy would stop racing around the openness and return to friends and family as he had.

A quiet creak stopped him at his door. "He's gone again, hasn't he?"

Cloud nodded sombrely. "Yes,"

Marlene groaned. "You're a bad influence…"

The door shut behind her with more force than necessary. The slight whine to her voice was an odd comfort, reminding him of his own foolish youth.

**Author's Note: Now this will really be just a short series. A few more chapters at best, I guarantee. In fact, I swear that death's embrace can touch me if it doesn't. I was curious about how Denzel and Marlene would react to a new family member. I always thought that it would affect Denzel the most since Marlene has Barret to fall back on. Denzel doesn't. When the new family member gets all the attention he's going to be sidelined a little. All things considered, he'd probably be an angst ridden teenager by that point, and voila, you have this… Whatever this is…**

**Thank you for reading. I do hope that you've enjoyed this chapter. I apologise if you're unhappy with the story.**


	2. Chapter 2

Melancholia

Light cascaded down the stairs and through the door's small window. The bar lights flickered faintly as if it knew the hearts of its inhabitants. The _clink_ of cutlery cut the silence to pieces. The tempting scent of freshly cooked breakfast wafted throughout the building.

Cloud glanced up. His eyes sparkled with amusement. Marlene, sitting opposite him, was shovelling food into her unclosing mouth. Her eyes flew around the room. Her left elbow held the strap of her bag to the back of the seat as her free hand rummaged restlessly. The deep crease between her brows was growing deeper though it was hard to see for her fringe which kept falling into her eyes.

He almost sighed. She had come to gain a strange independence recently. She insisted on doing things on her own. The days where he'd sneak up behind her and clasp her hair back, settling down to assist had gone. He missed them more than he let on.

The old stairs _creaked_ noisily. Tifa descended, quite frazzled herself, taking two steps at a time. Her eyes were fixed on a list she had in her hands.

"Right," she called breathlessly. "Marlene, do you have everything? Barret's going to be here in… five minutes. You have _five minutes_ Marlene."

An aggravated grunt was almost inaudible. "I know! I'm going as fast as I can!"

She tore out a few belongings, throwing them carelessly to the floor and missing the glower from Tifa. Then she snatched two back up, grabbing a handful of strange objects from the table. She rammed them into her bag, slung it over her shoulder and leapt up – only to catch her ankle on the table leg.

She flailed wildly for a blind moment of panic. Her balance quickly corrected itself and she sprinted away without a backwards glance. The door was thrown open wildly where she stopped face to face with Barret. A smile lit up her face. She took his arm and tore away down the street. A final, "I'll be back" was shouted.

The door _smashed_ violently against its doorframe. The hinges whined in their shrill, grating voices. Cloud glanced at Tifa and they shared a silent amusement. However, she quickly recalled the vow of silence she had made towards him. Her back was promptly turned. The leaky faucet was turned on as she scoured for glasses and plates to clean.

"You should calm down," Cloud advised. "You might break the tap or some plates."

She glowered at the unwashed dishes and replied sharply. "I can't. I have dishes to wash, lunch to cook, breakfast to clear, glasses to clean, glasses to polish, stock to check, orders to clarify, a house to clean, a bar to clean, dinner to make and customers to serve. This _should_ have been done last night,"

The frantic and frenzied scrubbing grew louder. He saw her shoulders hunch. She would work herself ill. She always did after Denzel visited. _That_, he thought, is_ some kind of self-punishment for being unable to give him a warm welcome_. She wouldn't forgive herself if she continued treating Denzel that way. She couldn't bring herself to so easily welcome him back into their lives. It was too great a risk for her: much like the risk of instantly welcoming back Cloud had been.

"Tifa," he frowns. "You-"

"I'm sorry…" a whisper of a voice mumbles.

The little boy on the stairs in his pyjamas rubbed his red rimmed eyes. He sniffled, whining softly with a sore throat. Tifa and Cloud raced to his side at once, fussing and fretting. The boy's bronze speckled azure eyes glanced up at an old photograph. He wasn't in it. He hadn't existed then, but the other boy had. The picture boy stood, smiling, wide eyed and happy in a tight, familial embrace.

"I'll start the work. I can take the day off. The deliveries aren't due to reach their destinations for a few days yet," he saw the instant relief in her eyes.

She kissed his cheek. "Thank you,"

She ushered their son back up the stairs slowly. As she did a faint grimace took to her features. She understood why Denzel might have taken things the wrong way. However, she couldn't forgive how much he doubted her love for him or his belief that she had - so easily - replaced him.

"Mummy…"

She pulled him up into her arms. "What's wrong?"

He nuzzled into her neck. "Why does the picture hate me?"

She patted his back. "No, the picture doesn't hate you. No one hates you. _Denzel_ is just a big boy and big boys are very, very grumpy,"

"Do you mean it mummy?"

She smiled. "Yes, just ask your dad,"

* * *

A stone ricocheted with a sharp stony cry off of one the boulders that spotted the land. A shard chipped off. Another stone was thrown, this time with more force. The same sound echoed. He threw a third. Then, he threw a fourth, followed shortly by a fifth. A handful lay at his feet. One was in his hand. He prepared to throw another. That was struck the hardest of them all. The stone clipped the summit and vanished over the edge. Denzel glanced at the ones by his feet. For a moment he simply watched them.

"You're easy to replace too,"

He picked a handful. They were rough and scratched his calloused palms. It took a moments deliberation before he chose which one he wanted.

"You know which is _right_,"

It fractured into a million pieces. He watched it solemnly. His heart pounded. Its shrieking beats were warning. He felt the anger rise in him. He wanted nothing to do them. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to see them.

His phone rang. He ignored it for the first five rings. After that the phone tried to vibrate out of his bag. He picked it up, flicked it on and put it to his ear.

He said simply. "I don't want to talk,"

"That's too bad, Denzel. I want to talk to you," he heard. "My deliveries start in a few days. You know you can't escape me then."

**Author's Note: I'm really sorry. I've been trying to fix it but I just can't… So, go on, you can say it, but I already know there's too much alliteration. I just can't help it! It's the only good grammar that I really know. No worries though. I've got my Grammar book now and I'm set to improve!**

**This chapter was really all about the day to day life. It's set up a kind of routine for them and it's rather a good routine, I think. The boy hasn't got a name yet. I'm very tempted to go down the all too common path, but I'd never forgive myself if I did.**

**Also, I apologise for the late upload. I had to come off and I wasn't getting into my account. I don't what it was but it was extremely slow. On the bright side I've corrected a few errors and I learned something really interesting. 'He' can be gender neutral. I have got to use that sometime! No more clumsy 'they', 'them' or 'their' for me!**

**Thank you for reading. I do hope that you have enjoyed this chapter. I apologise if I have disappointed you.**

**Thank you for the fantastic response! I'm delighted that so many of you enjoyed chapter 1!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Corrective Note: I had typed 'red eyes' last chapter and, though I meant it, I was referring to Cloud and Tifa's son being ill and not his eye colour.**

Melancholia

The sun was setting slowly. Its pallid light lingered on the land. A whisper of wind passed over. The bushes rustled restlessly. The quiet thrum of Denzel's motorcycle was the only unnatural sound. He preferred it that way. It made him feel free.

His lips fell into a grim line. He wasn't free. He was on his way to meet with Cloud. There was no other option. He would either make the first move or be chased down. He didn't mind Cloud particularly. Cloud _tried_: he made an effort, talking, enquiring how he was, showing an interest and being welcoming. It was Tifa that Denzel was uncomfortable around.

She was strange. She always knew when he was coming. She was always waiting for him arriving. She was always curt and to the point. She was always avoiding looking at him when she was speaking to him. She was always cold and distant. There was always a bitter edge to her voice.

Denzel swerved suddenly, careening to a stop at the edge of the road. Cloud stood a short distance away. His eyes were firmly fixated on a bed of flourishing flowers at the edge of the land. His silence was sombre.

"What do you want Cloud?" Denzel demanded. "I've been home already. I can take care of myself."

He turned. "I'm happy to see you too,"

Denzel stopped at the flowers, looked up and quickly away. "I should have known…"

Cloud, oblivious, calls to him with hope. "Tifa does want you back. She's just upset. She doesn't understand how you can think she's replaced you,"

Denzel glared. "She doesn't understand or you don't understand. Look where you've brought me. Whose grave is that?"

Cloud shook his head. "I didn't plan to meet here. I wanted-"

He stepped back. "No, Cloud. Don't bother. I'm leaving,"

He strode back to his motorcycle. His feet ached with the need to run. His throat burned with unspoken words. He swung his leg over, hands clamped to the handle bars. The goggles swung an inch away from the fingers of his left hand. He ignored it.

"Denzel, come back," Cloud pleaded sombrely. "This is a misunderstanding. Please, Denzel, for the family-"

"I'm not coming back," he snapped.

A trail of dust misted the air. It veiled the dying sun's last remnants of life. The _whir_ of the engine was gone: lost to the wind.

Cloud stood alone.

* * *

The quiet hum of life filtered beneath the doorway. The light from outside flickered intermittently as people passed by. The night had dawned and the doors were still closed. The hum of life remained outside. The bar itself was shadowed.

Tifa sighed, tapping her pen against the table. "Five to… Then, six to… No. That won't work… Nine… No. No, not that either…"

"You could always call Cloud," Marlene, sitting on the stairs, muttered tiredly. "He wouldn't mind coming back. Those packages can't be important anyway. No one paid much for the service."

Tifa pushed away from the table and smiled. "Cloud has a reputation for his services. I can't call him back here to work at the bar. Some of _our_ customers are also Cloud's,"

Her suggestion having been shot down in flames she slumped further forward. She was bored. There was little to do in the city. Barret was away. Denzel was probably ignoring his calls – having learnt from the very best of dilly-dalliers. Then, from nowhere, an idea struck her.

She jolted upright. "I could do it. I could run the bar for you. I've seen you do it. I know what they like and they know me,"

Tifa shook her head, murmuring distantly. "That's nice, Marlene but I'm afraid not. The prime business hours have passed. The way that things are going we'd probably lose more money than we'd make if we open. Maybe tomorrow,"

She stood. "You can't make any money if you're never open. I know Zack's sick. He's _always_ sick. It's not a good enough reason to shut down every business you have!"

The thundering of feet was promptly followed by the slamming of a door. In the silence the sound resounded. Her words were left to litter the air.

Tifa buried her face in her hands. "You've done this before. Marlene will come around. Cloud will come back. Denzel _might_ visit. This is normal. This is what to expect,"

A quiet voice broke the stillness. "What about me? Am I not normal?"

She spun around. "Zack, what are you doing here? I thought you were sleeping,"

He shook his head. The sad light to his eyes still prevailed. He shuffled uncertainly, his eyes dancing over shadows from upstairs. For a long moment Tifa stayed where she was. She pondered over what was more important: her son or the finances.

She crossed to him eventually. She held him by the arms, watching him, gauging his reaction. She wasn't sure what she was looking for. She thought ashamedly, _courage doesn't come with a name. You shouldn't have believed that._

She forced herself to smile. "You are normal. There's nothing wrong with you at all. I didn't mention you because you're the only one who stays here with me,"

He frowned. "Mum, you _can_ say it to me. I'm sick. That's why the bar is usually shut,"

She brushed his hair away. "I think we need to talk this over – really talk about this,"

She urged him towards the table and he obeyed. The awkward little stiff steps he took captivated her. They made her heart race a little faster. She waited until he was comfortably seated before clearing the documents away. Then, she sat next to him.

"Zack, I'm not going to lie. You're a sick little boy," she began. Marlene slipped into the spare seat and patted his back. "It's not your fault. You didn't choose to be this way, and even if you did we still love you…"

**Author's Note: Well, that's even less attention for Denzel. Think about it. He had this perfect little family. Everything was going great. Then he found out he was going to have a younger sibling. He's a bit jealous. He likes things the way they are. He likes the amount of attention he gets, but it's okay because it could be quite fun. Then the baby comes – a brother, and not only another boy but a sick little boy. He definitely wasn't expecting such a low level of attention. He can't really adjust and is being side lined more and more often. It would be easier just to leave.**

**I know that I said I'd have this ready by the end of the week. I know this is the weekend. I'm just struggling a little right now. The plot bunnies are attacking me and I've not the time or will to start two new manyscripts and five new fanfiction. Besides, I have my first Cosplay to work on for my first Comic Con, holiday packing, school work, Fathers' Day cooking... I might need to slow a bit with my updates. I hope you won't mind.**

**Thank you for reading. I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter. I apologise if I have disappointed you.**


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